


What Chance Has A Butterfly

by Selkie_de_Suzie



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Angst, Bog POV, Insecurity, Old wounds take a long time to heal, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 20:29:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3542813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkie_de_Suzie/pseuds/Selkie_de_Suzie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You only know how to fly…" Old insecurities raise their ugly heads as Bog contemplates what chance a scaly old beast has with a beauty like her. Inspired by Christina Perri's song "Butterfly".<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	What Chance Has A Butterfly

He watches her from the shade of the Forest, from the gloom, as she darts about above him, chasing her sister and laughing and wheeling.

 _That’s where she belongs,_ an old poisonous voice whispers to him, the one he still can’t bloody well shut up even after all these years. _She belongs up there, she belongs to sunlight, her home is the sky, not with a gloomy old monster like you…_

He twitches, trying to throw it off, and he wants to scowl, but she streaks past him, giving him a smile, cocky and sure and laughing, and he can’t bring himself to ruin her delight and gives her a little slant of a grin, watching her climb higher and higher, away from him, _as she should be…_

Enough, he tells it. Spread your venom elsewhere. I have no time for you, only for her.

He tries so hard to believe that.

* * *

She smells of sunlight, and at the moment she tastes of raspberries. She clings to him, and he savors her, drinking in the sound of her moan, craving the feel of her mouth, still hungry and demanding, beneath his. A bright red splotch of something is lurking at her lips, and he jerks back a bit, and she gives a little noise of displeasure, tugging him back to her. Ravenous, she is. And it turns out to be merely juice, merely a left over from her snack. _Oh, but you should be worried, it wouldn’t have been the first time you accidentally bloodied her up, you’ll rip her apart if you aren’t careful, fangs and spikes and scales are all well and good for beasts but not for soft butterfly beauties…_

"Bog, c’mon, I’m not fragile," she mutters into his mouth, and he lets himself hold onto her, his grip a punishment - not to her, but to himself. _Hold her tight, hold her for as long as you can, this won’t last, this can’t last, how could you ever deserve her…_

He growls into the kiss, and Marianne happily thinks it’s for pleasure, and she gives a purr back. His mind races, anger and fear and wanting rolled into one. _You’ll find a way to ruin this, you’ll find a way to drive her away, scare her off, she wasn’t the first girl to run screaming in horror from your love but she’ll be the one that hurts the most, oh yes, face it like a King, you know you’ll make mistakes and she’ll come to her senses, see that you aren’t worthy for her…_

He won’t make the same mistakes this time, he swears to himself. As she looks up at him, there’s a kindness in those beautiful brown eyes that makes his heart twist. She loves me, he says. Say what you will, spread whatever venom you want, but she loves me.

_Oh yes, **now** she does, but how long do you think it will last, you fool? _

She sighs happily, her clever fingers stroking at his neck, and he leans his face against the crown of her head, wishing he could breathe her in but he can’t, he can’t breathe. He wants to tell himself that it’s not wrong to want her, not wrong to pray she never comes to her senses, but he’s lost his faith in wrong and right too many times to be sure…

* * *

"You’re avoiding me."

He turns away from her, guilt pricking at him. “I…I wasn’t trying to…”

"But you have been." She crosses to him, settles herself next to him, squeezing herself up against all his sharp edges, no sense of self preservation.

She doesn’t look away, and she frowns, not in anger but as if she’s faced with a problem she had thought she’d solved only to find she missed some steps. Tenacious little thing, gritted teeth and soft smiles and hard stares and warm eyes. She’s a glorious contradiction, silk and steel. _How could you possibly deserve her?_

He looks at her, and when she sees his expression, her face falls into pure concern. Her eyes are so kind and when she reaches for him, her touch is gentle, a whisper against his roughness. “What’s the matter?”

His voice is a rasp when he answers. “I…it’s nothing, I just…” The Dark Forest has no gods, but he prays each night that she changes her mind, that she sees who he is with clarity. _What were you thinking, a beast like you falling for a beauty…_

It won’t hurt as badly when she leaves if she’s the one to make the choice. That’s what he must tell himself.

She palms his face, her hand soft and strong, and he can’t help it, he leans into her touch, needing this, needing her. Her eyes are now scared. “Did…is it something I did -?”

"No! No no no, never, I just -" He nearly curses. How could he forget she has her own insecurities, her own tender spots to pick at? He may marvel at her, but they both have wounds that still smart if they aren’t careful. He rubs her shoulder, trying to comfort. "This…this is all about me." And how she won’t pick him, shouldn’t pick him, no one would. _No one should…_

"Then tell me." Her voice is a demand, even as her eyes have a helpless glint to them now.

There is a silence, pained and uncertain.

" _Bog,_ I swear - “

"Why pick me? I’m not…why fight for me?" She stares at him, and he looks away. He may as well throw himself upon her sword, it would hurt less than this. "Your father will never be at peace with us, your kingdom will always be suspicious, am I honestly worth -"

Her finger silences him, and he looks at her, at her face…there is no anger, no frustration, nothing but certainty, her eyes burning. “ _You are worth the fight,_ " she murmurs, her voice catching. "You are worth _every_ single fight. Never, _ever_ doubt that.”

The poisonous old voice has no response to that, but he does.

Their kiss is a comfort, not a clash, and they each seek solace and offer balm. She is enough, they were enough, they are worth the fight…

Poisonous voices may whisper once more, and old doubts may indeed resurface. But as he looks at her, his fierce butterfly girl, and touches her face as she presses a kiss to his palm…

_You only know how to fly._

What lies. She knows so much more, knows him better than himself.

And they each make each other soar.


End file.
